


5 Times Peter Almost Told Erik (+1 Time Erik Figured it Out Anyway)

by yellowledbetter



Series: 20th Century Mutants [2]
Category: Marvel, WandaVision (TV), X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Emotional Baggage, Emotional Constipation, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Erik Has Feelings, Erik has Issues, Erik has a martyr complex, Family Bonding, Family Fluff, Father-Son Relationship, Fatherhood, Found Family, Genosha, Grief/Mourning, Hurt Pietro Maximoff, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Nightsilver, Loosely based on my Wandavision theory that will definitely age poorly, Minor Character Death, Multi, Past Cherik but implied Cherik, Peter has self esteem issues, Peter is a Little Shit, Peter-centric, Pietro Maximoff Feels, Protective Erik, Self-Destruction, Whump, charles and erik are so in love, dadneto, erik accidentally fathering peter, peter is such a disaster in this one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-17 22:16:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29848305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yellowledbetter/pseuds/yellowledbetter
Summary: Peter doesn’t need a dad, but there is something about Erik that is magnetic and the more time they spend together the more Peter wants him in his life. There was the high of letting himself need people, but even more addictive was letting himself think that maybe he could be needed too. In short, Erik is pulling Peter in like he is metal, and Peter hates that he wants to be.
Relationships: Erik Lehnsherr & Magda (X-Men), Erik Lehnsherr & Pietro Maximoff, Erik Lehnsherr & Pietro Maximoff & Charles Xavier, Erik Lehnsherr/Charles Xavier, Magda & Pietro Maximoff, Magda & Pietro Maximoff & Wanda Maximoff, Pietro Maximoff & Wanda Maximoff, Pietro Maximoff/Kurt Wagner
Series: 20th Century Mutants [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2185818
Comments: 38
Kudos: 267





	5 Times Peter Almost Told Erik (+1 Time Erik Figured it Out Anyway)

**Author's Note:**

> Another installment of my series 20th Century Mutants! I’d recommend reading the first installment “The Night Comes Down” for some context but it’s not necessary and doesn't really affect the fic. To recap: everything is canon compliant up until DOFP, then is canon divergent. Peter moves to Xavier’s around 5 years after DOFP and is 18, almost 19, at the start of this fic, and is a repeat student in his junior year with Kurt+ Co as he dropped out after his sophomore year. There’s implied past Cherik and Nightsilver but it’s very focused on Peter and Erik bonding while Peter tries to simultaneously keep the secret and also find courage and opportunity to tell Erik lol.

Peter knows he shouldn’t need Erik.

Peter doesn’t need a dad, not really - he’s 19, almost 20, and though his soul didn’t say so he was an adult. He was grown, and he had everything he needed growing up. Peter loved his mom - and though as a kid maybe he’d daydream about a dad, Magda was always enough. By god, Magda loved - she loved, and loved, and loved. 

Magda knew what the world could be like,   
especially for those like them. She knew what it took to survive. The Maximoffs were survivors, and Magda was sure to raise her kids as Maximoffs. The Maximoffs knew what it was like to be cast into the shadows, to be targeted by an ever watchful gun built from hatred and discrimination. It is why Pietro became Peter, and Wanda would become Wendy. Privilege and the upper hand were not Maximoff birthrights; and yet Magda managed to give her children as much as she could. So Magda Maximoff was the most equipped mother to handle the news that her kids were mutants. So she passed on to them the Maximoff birthright: strength in togetherness. 

_“You run straight ahead and you keep running forward, no matter what,”_ His mother told him the day his powers manifested. 

_“There's nothing for you behind you. All that exists is what's ahead.”_

Peter would hold on to the words so that it was burned into the walls of his heart and the inner linings of his soul. They were written into his core and he would carry them with him in everything he would do. 

He would be nestled into his mother’s side, his sister in the other, listening to the fire crackle. It was one of his clearest memories, and if memories made the person this was certainly one of the ones that made him. There was a duality in this moment; the safety of two twins each tucked into the warm embrace of a mother, and being told the truth of the dangerous reality they had to face for the first time. The duality of a twin who held so much power within her, yet would often find herself destroyed by it, and the twin who would be faster than anybody on earth, but always a bit too late. 

Yet despite the tragedy that weighed over them, Peter’s little hand would reach over to his sister’s, to try and steady this world of theirs that was shaken. She would take his hand, of course, and that’s how it would go in their years to come. It would be this formidable duality that allowed them to face a dichotomous world, and every moment spent together they were more and more intertwined. It was the most special thing in the world to both of them. 

It was safer this way. This was how Peter always lived - but he’d always had a vice.

Peter sought thrills.

Peter had an iron-clad mother who set up the foundations of a good life for him - and Peter tried to build on it, but Peter was constantly drawn to the uncontrollable and arcane. Magda had kept him safe and defined the world around him, but Peter loved the rush of the unknown, the feeling of something completely beyond him. He longed for things to perceive and wonder.

And Peter wondered, Peter wondered about Erik. 

Erik was possibilities, and Peter was an explorer. He was drawn to the what if’s, the potential - _what if this could be the next best thing?_

Peter wasn’t an idealist or much of optimist either, he was very much free of care and expectation - but yet the heart in him that he neglected in favour of adrenaline rush still longed for the possibility of the intense. He had built himself on befriending everybody, but knowing and letting himself be known by very few. He would never say it, but he was so lonely. He had more fingers than true companions in his life, and for a while Peter thought he was content with only tastes of everything and everyone the world had to offer - but true connection to something other than himself.. that was something else entirely. He had it once, and he lived for it. He found himself woefully untethered without it. Peter was left lost, and simply floating through the vastness of space looking for something to hold on to.

So Peter picks himself up from the ditch he dug for himself, packs up his childhood to become - well, a child, but maybe this time away from home. He kisses his mother and little sister goodbye, promising to visit often, and to call every day, and he pursues those possibilities of something more. Magda worries, of course, but she’s just proud Peter is finally interested in being something. 

There was the high of letting himself need something, but even more addictive was letting himself think that maybe he could be needed too.

* * *

1.

It’s the last class of the day, and Peter usually is forced to endure a painful torture session of a maths class with Xorn - but today the Professor can’t teach his adjacent biology class with the young ones, so Peter has been chosen to watch the devils who he genuinely loves. Peter loves the younger kids most, maybe he misses when Lorna was that young, and he just loves being a big brother too much, but he loves the munchkins. Peter doesn’t really know if he’ll have kids, but he better be an uncle or godfather one day. 

Naturally Peter doesn’t actually make the kids do the work sheet Charles had assigned; he gives them the answers so they can quickly get it done and they can all go outside and play a game of cops and robbers. So when he ushers the children back in like a shepherd summoning his sheep and hears Charles in his head, he doesn’t think much of it. Charles has probably found out about his academic betrayal and Peter will get a classic Charles sermon. 

_“Peter, if it’s not too much trouble, can you come meet me at my office?”_ Charles echoes in his head. Peter doesn’t think much of it and speeds towards the Professor’s office. He opens up the door, still in super speed, not bothering to knock. 

Though Peter is moving at practically supersonic speed, he still manages to get hit with a force so strong that he finds his legs no longer connect with him and he’s toppling over himself. 

The force is of course, the shock of seeing Erik Lehnsherr, aka his sperm donor, Fridge Magnet Father, or quite simply put, his estranged dad, sitting opposite the Professor.

“Peter! Are you alright?!” Charles exclaims. Erik makes a move to help him up but Peter surfaces quickly.

“Haha, Yep! Man, I don’t know what happened! Must be, uh, a loose shoelace,” Peter offers. 

Charles and Erik look down at his tied shoelaces, “Ah.”

Erik looks at him like he’s a bumbling buffoon. Peter goes a bit red. 

“Anyways!” Charles interrupts with a quick clearing of his throat, “Peter, I called you here because as I was explaining to Erik, I think you’d be a great fit for this mission.”

Peter blinks, “Huh?”

Charles motions for Peter to sit. He does.

“Charles, we haven’t even discussed this, are you sure this is the right kid?” Erik asks.

“The kid has a name,” Peter pipes up. _‘your kid, for that matter,’_ he thinks.

“Yes, Erik - Peter is the oldest of the students, and you have no business questioning his capabilities, when he broke you out of the pentagon,” Charles reminds. 

“Yeah, man, you totally owe me here, what gives?” Peter questions. 

Erik considers it for a moment, looking at Peter which makes him feel a sort of exposed that he really doesn’t like dwelling on.

Erik opens up, “ These last few years I’ve been trying to take down remaining experimentation labs, taking out anyone who had associated with them, destroying their supplies and buildings, making sure the price was paid for what they took-“

“Erik..” Charles warned.

“You said so yourself Charles, he’s an adult, surely he knows the truth of what we are to them,” Erik responded, “Unless you shelter your students so much they are delusional enough to lick the same boot that stomps on them?”

“Erik, we agreed we will put our difference in ideology in favour of what matters most,” Charles affirmed, looking at Erik as if he were studying him. Erik searches too in Charles, looking inward and dips his head lightly in resignation.

“We did. For what matters most,” Erik confirmed quietly. 

Peter felt like he shouldn’t be watching. In fact he didn’t want to be watching. 

“I am one man. I alone cannot go against the homo sapiens. There is a lot one man on his own cannot do,” Erik rued, eyes never leaving Charles’ gaze. 

Ugh, Peter wanted to throw up.

“As I am, regretfully I cannot promise our brothers and sisters the promised land we deserve. But I am vowed to protection, which is something I know the Professor also advocates for,” Erik continues.

Charles gestures towards an island on a map laying flat across Charles’ desk, “Equally I know there are so many more mutants beyond my reach or who cannot be admitted into this school due to circumstance who are in equal need. And though our paths diverged some time ago Erik and I will always be bound to our oath for the mutant fight.” Yet the two’s eyes remained locked onto each other’s gazes, bound by a connection that was formed by so much history, and it was so romantic Peter wanted to take a shower in bleach.

“So we have decided to collaborate on Genosha,” Erik finished.

Peter narrows his eyes and looks towards the island Erik gestures towards.

“Ge.. gesundheit?” 

Erik rolls his eyes, “Genosha.”

Charles took over, “it is an island located off the east coast of Africa. Historically, it was an economically thriving island, but at abhorrent cost. It thrived on what is essentially mutant slavery. The island is run by the Genegineer, who uses mutant identification technology that Trask used that targets the mutant gene. After the war the country was forced into abolition, which thankfully removed this horrible programme of ‘mutates’ where through modification innocent captive mutants were stripped of their free will to act as weaponry or slave labour force. While the programme has been abolished mutants in Genosha are owned by state.”

Peter makes a face of disgust. Erik’s brow raises, almost in approval.

“The UN have made their stance on it in our favour, and have condemned what’s been happening there. But the UN is passive, and are reluctant about going to war with the Genegineer so soon after Vietnam, and especially as mutant battle is something they are inexperienced with,” Charles continues.

“Which is where we come in,” Erik picks up, seemingly in perfect tandem with Charles, as if they were always meant to be working together, “If we are able to take down the Genegineer at the Capital, the UN promises their aid in liberating the rest of the island. And when that is done, Genosha will be given to mutants as a safe haven and aid will be given to us to build it as something new.”

A feeling, some sort of elated hope, like a euphoria he had never quite experienced before, had taken over him, and his face reflected that, “ _Dude,_ that is awesome!” The thought of a safe haven for people like him, a place without hiding, without fear, without the pain of.. 

Peter’s heart frosts over momentarily, feeling a beloved ghost wrap her arms around his heart, but it thaws quickly with the hopes of building towards better. 

“You know I am not a separatist, Peter. But as the fight continues, we must have somewhere mutants in need can take refuge until we achieve peace and harmony. Too many lives have been lost already,” Charles concludes.

“Then let’s go already! Why are you only telling me? What about Jean? Or, Ororo, and Kurt-“ Peter bumbles excitedly. 

Charles chuckles fondly, “This is not something that can be achieved through the course of one X Men mission. This is the biggest thing we have ever encountered, and we will take careful steps. We are birthing a nation, and it’s conception cannot be stained. I have utter faith in our X Men’s Abilities but I do not want to risk danger any more than I have to. Which is why we’ll need help.”

“There is a mutant resistance group within Genosha who call themselves The Acolytes who we must safely smuggle out of the country. My contact Tabitha informed me as of yesterday that predominant members have been imprisoned and need to be broken out. I assume you’re beginning to understand why Charles has faith you are the man for the job,” Erik explains, unable to hide the mild smile playing at his lips as Peter’s excitement bubbles to an ultimate high, leg bouncing with adrenaline. “They know more about the inner workings more than anyone and are vital in our plot to overthrow it. Escaping Genosha for a citizen is forbidden, and refugees often die in the process and should they survive end up in provision centers with no hope of refugee status. We must ensure their arrival so they can convene with the UN and we can coordinate our next steps.”

“This has to be a small mission, as we do not want them to anticipate or realise our plot hence why I am going. I’ve made myself known as an opposer of the Genoshan government, my presence will not be suspicious in the slightest. You are a student and therefore not a registered X Men member yet, so should you be recognized they will not associate this as an X Men mission, and therefore not realise what we are plotting,” Erik further explains, leaning in Peter’s direction. The way he converses with him is so natural, having fallen into a natural rhythm, so much so Peter finds himself getting comfortable.

“That makes sense. Nobody will question your association with me, they’ll just think it’s a good ol’ bonding activity for a boy and his old man-“

**_Shit._ **

Peter freezes, his next breath having left his body, and it feels like his heart has stopped moving. He perceives his surroundings like he’s moving in super speed, and the world is freakishly still.

_Go ahead, Peter. You can tell him. Your truth will set you free. Even when it is not easy._

_**I can’t. I can’t. I can’t. Not yet. Notnow. Notnownotnownotnownotnow-** _

“-Ay, Daddio? Get it? Because I’m young, and you’re like, ancient, Magnets, they’ll think we’re like.. f-father and son, hell, probably even like, grandfather and son! HA!” Peter quips in a quick fire, bursting with anxious energy. He wants to run away; but Charles knows this, and he can feel Charles’ grip on him to stay. 

Erik looks utterly bamboozled. Charles looks like he’s just aged about a decade.

Charles clears his throat, “Sorry Erik, Peter is just an enthusiast for using humour, _even when it is untimely.”_

**_Wow, that was way harsh, Hot Wheels!_ **

_I heard that._

“Anywaywhenisthemission?” Peter spits, words jumbling together.

“My contact has informed me that according to her trajectory, we should be able to operate the mission in 10 days time,” Erik says slowly, as if still trying to comprehend the strangeness of the last few minutes.

Peter tries to move them along, pouting, “What am I supposed to do until then?”

“Your classes, Peter,” Charles raises his eyebrow in disapproval as Peter slumps dramatically, “Erik will be living with us in the mean time, and for about a month afterward to smooth out any creases. And.. after that..?” Charles looks towards Erik with these puppy like eyes that Peter wants to snort. 

“I cannot dedicate myself to the school, Charles. As much as I respect and admire the work you do, I truly cannot see homo sapien and homo superior holding hands and singing kumbaya,” Erik sighs. 

Charles looks like a kicked puppy. 

“Don’t you get tired Magnet Man? Why don’t you just stay with us? We’ve got great water pressure,” Peter quips jokingly although he’s not sure if he’s fully joking. He wonders if he’s asking Erik to stay for Charles or if maybe he wants him to stay too.

“We don’t expect the preparations for the takeover to be ready for another year. So, I’ll be filling my time with other plights while Charles does all this diplomacy stuff. I’ll be lending my services for the takeover of course, but after that.. there is still much I have to do.”

Peter and Charles sit there helplessly, willing Erik to see them. But Erik remains blind. 

Charles releases a deep sigh, “That will be all for now Peter.”

Peter spares one longing glance towards his father, but no more, and is off in a flash and doesn’t look back. Only forward. 

* * *

2.

“You’re a wuss, Maximoff.”

“Scott! That’s mean!” Jubilee protests, increasing the volume of her voice to be heard over Peter’s blaring rock music, turning to poke at the blanket burrito Peter had cocooned himself into, “He doesn’t have to do anything he doesn’t want to.”

“Except he does want to, and has spent the last ten days doing fuck all and making a fool of himself!” Scott teases, snickering to himself.

“Sorry Pete, but accidentally making him coffee with salt instead of sugar was not one of your finest moments,” Jean giggles.

Peter groans loudly from inside his cocoon, seething. 

“Well, at least he is known as a prankster so he didn’t look as stupid?” Kurt offers sweetly, it almost makes Peter emerge from his cocoon, but he decides against it. Kurt continues to neatly pack some essentials into a little rucksack for Peter’s mission tomorrow.

“Let’s all just agree Peter is a big chicken,” Ororo boasts, making chicken noises as she flaps her arms about as Scott follows suit, “Seriously, enjoy your adorable fishing trip with your dad who doesn’t know he’s your dad.”

Somebody knocks at the door.

“Go away Chuck!” Peter shouts, voice muffled from his blanket of despair and self loathing. 

Jean’s eyes widen, like they do when she senses something, “Peter, it’s not—“

The door swings open to reveal Erik leaning against the door frame looking unimpressed.

“Hi,” Peter squeaks from inside his dome, poking his head out looking like some sort of Russian doll, or hermit crab, or alien of some sort. 

The young mutants begin to file out of the room. Erik’s presence had a “Moses parting the Red Sea” sort of effect on the kids, it seemed. As Scott sneakily nicks a Twinkie off of Peter’s stash, in a flash the Twinkie is out of his hands and Scott is flying out of the room, and Peter is now sitting on his bed, munching on said snack.

Erik blinks in exasperation. 

“Hey Mags, what up?” Peter grins, silver strands of hair sticking up in all sorts of direction.

Erik frowns, approaching the boy, making Peter tense, and just when he thinks he’s about to get bitchslapped by Magneto, he relaxes against a warm, firm, and addictively comforting hand brushing through his hair, smoothing it back into place. 

“Christ, boy, were you raised in a barn?!”

“Uh, no, in a house actually, just outside of Washington?” He jokes, pretending to seem bothered and annoyed by Erik’s grooming, but if Peter had a love language it was hair pets, but Peter could not get soft now.

Erik rolls his eyes, and once Peter’s hair is somewhat presentable he steps back and eyes the little rucksack, “I came because I wanted to check if you were prepared for tomorrow. It’s an early start. I wasn’t expecting you to actually be prepared, I figured you were a last minute procrastinator.”

Peter grins, “I am, but Kurt is the bomb.”

“The Raven and Azazel love child looking guy? He’s sweet, and apparently very much so to you in particular,” Erik observes.

“Huh. He does look a bit like Raven.. wait, really? you think so?” 

Erik crosses his arms, “Anyway, I didn’t come to gossip. I’m also here to have a chat with you and see if you have any queries. Really, it’s Charles who keeps pushing me to have a chat with you.”

Peter mentally curses the Professor for meddling with his business, but puts on a smile for Erik, “Nah it’s all good man. I’m your man.” 

“Are you sure? Nothing you want to ask?” 

“Uh.. what's shakin' bacon..?” Peter tries awkwardly, and just about almost facepalms himself. Erik raises his eyebrow at him, clearly unamused, as if he were saying, ‘seriously?’ Peter’s face flushes uncomfortably, feeling his cheeks heat up with pure embarrassment - and as it usually goes when he starts getting anxious, his leg begins to bounce in a silver flurry. 

_I have no kick against modern jazz_  
_Unless they try to play it too darn fast_  
_And change the beauty of the melody_  
_Until they sound just like a symphony_

He concentrates on the beat of the music, until his trembling leg starts to tap out a rhythmic backbeat rather than the anxious agitation. He’s grounded again.

“Chuck Berry?” 

Peter’s heart, and in response his face, lights up with excitement, any semblance of anxiety seeming to exit his body with the same speed his mutation allowed him to move, “Yeah, man! I love him. He’s so rad, you like him?”

Erik gives him a slight nod, giving him at the very least, approval, “I’ve never had the time to properly delve into music. I did briefly, in the early 60s, when Charles and I had worked together. I remember being fond of Berry.”

“Dude, I would totally be a rock star if I wasn’t kicking ass being an x man.”

“I could see that. Would you teach music in the school?”

“Oh. I hadn’t thought about that. That’s a good idea. I mean, I _love_ being in the x men. But I.. love music, man. It’s like, my thing, you know? It’s like, amazing, dude, one of the greatest, if not the greatest, form of art ever. I don’t know man, it’s just,” Peter makes some sort of bizarre gesture, though the excitement in his soul shone through enough. He knows he’s unraveling, revealing the little intricacies and nooks and crannies of himself for this man to peer into. Peter does not trust easily, but yet Erik is like the sun and Peter is a flower opening itself up for some light.

Erik idly fingers at Peter’s shelf of records, presenting to Peter a true inkling of a warm smile, “Hm. You know, I feel given the right time and place, music is something I could see myself loving.”

Peter watches his father for a few moments, taking him in. Maybe he’s just naive and stupid, to blindly tug on on every olive branch that was extended to him. Or maybe it’s a primal instinct, the incessant urge to meet the need of his wounded heart hoping that Erik could be the stitches to piece it back together. Peter doesn’t know what’s happening, but what it feels like is Peter is metal and Erik is pulling him in. 

“Dude, have you listened to Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon? What about A Day At The Races? Queen? You listen to that shit and you will definitely become a convert,” Peter insists, springing to his feet and dashing around his bedroom, and ends up pushing two clearly worn and loved records into Erik’s arms. “Here! Take my copies, I know you’ll love em! Dude, super terrorist or not everybody deserves to experience the pure unadulterated eroticism that is Freddie Mercury’s chocolatey voice.”

Erik blinks in surprise at the valuables suddenly now in his possession, and to both of their surprise, he smiles. Peter wants to think that Erik is moved, by the way something fond glazes over his eyes as he studies what he’s just been given. He doesn’t let himself think that though, he’ll teeter over the edge, but he’s not stupid enough to fall in.

“Thank you. I’ll give it a listen. I do have catching up to do,” Erik confesses, turning on his heel as he starts to make his exit, eyes still locked onto the records, “I’ll see you tomorrow. I’ll come by and get you.”

“You have no idea,” Peter mutters, thinking of how much of a fool his father was for being so blind to this all.

But if Erik’s a fool, Peter’s a jester and he’s brought the whole circus with him - because some idiotic, hopelessly romantically naive cretinous part of himself, despite already risking the dangers of lending such delicately vulnerable and personal pieces of himself straight into an ultimate stranger’s hands, compels him to speak.

“Erik?” Peter calls out pathetically, before Erik leaves through the door and to the child inside of him, leaves forever. He sounds as though he’s a toddler begging a parent for company after a hellish nightmare.

“Yes, kid?” Erik questions, turning around to meet his trembling gaze.

This is it. This could be everything.

But in Erik’s eyes Peter sees a ghost, one that has haunted him for too long. 

“U-uh, good night,” Peter sputters.

Erik raises an eyebrow, but says nothing of it and makes his way out of the room, flipping off the light switch, “You should sleep early. Early start tomorrow.”

Peter does try. He tries, and he tries. But he just keeps seeing _her_ and she doesn’t let him rest.

* * *

3.

“Come on, please tell me about your Nazi hunting days?” 

“No. If Charles catches wind of that he’ll eat me.”

“You’re the worst person to play 20 questions with! Come on, just tell me something else about yourself!”

“Why are you so interested in me? Why don’t you tell me about yourself?” Erik huffs. Peter reddens slightly, wondering if he was lingering too close to blowing his cover.

“But it’s my turn to ask questions, so- oh, woah, Erik, look,” Peter gasps. 

Erik’s eyes glint, with something, perhaps it’s ambition, eagerness, or maybe even hope. Genosha looks like it could be just what they needed.

“I won’t lie, I can’t believe my eyes,” Erik murmured. Peter looks towards him, trying to study him - he knows what this must mean to Erik.

Erik punches in the coordinates of their rendezvous point and land, about half an hour ahead of schedule. The two of them exit the jet, and they both step out knowing the significance of this, how this could be a haven that could harbour those like them. It’s a strange feeling, Peter thinks - there’s a weird sense of newness and a familiarity to this place, although he knows he’s never seen it before. But most of all there’s the hope in him flickering, and he knows Erik feels it too - he can sense his father is tense, only because he knows the spark is fragile and must be kept aflame. He would know better than Peter would in any way.

Peter eyes up a nearby mountain, eyes suddenly kindling with the classic Maximoff excitement and mischief. “Mags.. you did say we were early..” He whistles slyly.

Erik shakes his head in exasperation, but he doesn’t seem all too annoyed in reality, “Okay, fine. Go have a look.”

“You don’t wanna come?” Peter pouts.

Erik looks reluctant, but sighs in defeat, “Okay. Be gentle with me.”

Peter grins and takes Erik by the neck, and begins to run up the incline - it takes him a solid minute to get up there, due to Erik’s weight and the uphill battle, but when he does he gently places Erik on the ground, knowing the rollercoaster motion he would’ve just experienced.

“Verdammte scheiße,” Erik curses breathlessly, holding his head in his hands as presumably his world twirls.

Peter can’t really bring himself to look over at Erik again for something else has stolen his attention. Genosha is like a modernized kingdom, a science fiction fairytale that only blockbusters produced. It’s beautiful, but Peter is so conflicted. 

Erik joins him in admiring, but seems to have noticed his troubles, “What’s wrong?”

Peter shakes his head, “Nothing. I.. it’s just.. it’s so, awesome, man, but it’s.. Like.. I know it’s made from.. nasty things.”

Erik places a reassuring hand on Peter’s shoulder, “Which is why we take it back. The slave builders of these palaces will own them. We built this, so we take it and make it ours. That is how we must live, Peter. We reclaim what they have soiled. Every moment you live is resistance, so we always win. No more hiding.”

“No more hiding,” Peter murmurs softly.

Shaking his head as if to shake off the softer side he had just demonstrated, he looks over to the side, “Cool! Look! A waterfall! Let’s go down!”

Erik backs away, “No, don’t you dare - I’ll fly myself down, there’s metal in my shoes - I’ll catch up with you in a minute.”

Peter laughs and speeds down the gorge, and finds himself surrounded by this paradisiacal ravine that can only be birthed from dreams and imagination. It feels like home, somehow - so safe, like a haven, like the splendid sanctuary of his childhood ideals.

_Little Wendy lifts herself up into a branch overhanging the tiny waterfall hanging over the creek. “I never want to leave our kingdom, Peter!”_

_It’s a tiny patch of forest, and a puny little brook, but to them it’s a utopia that is all their own._

_“Why a princess can do whatever she wishes!” Little Peter cheers._

_“Queen, Peter, a Queen,” Wendy corrects, adjusting her poise. "A queen governs her people, and a good queen makes her kingdom the happiest place it can be!"  
_

_Peter raises his hands in apology, giggling, then speeds around the creek splashing around, "And I will protect! Hyah!"  
_

_“Peter?” Wendy says quietly. She looks sad. She looked sad so often. Even when they were so young.  
_

_Peter stops and rushes to her side in an instant.  
_

_“I’m scared to be a grown up,” She confesses._

_Peter takes her hands and takes her for a spin, “We never have to grow up, Wendy! It’s you and me forever! I’m your Peter Pan and this is our Neverland!”_

_Peter gets on one knee and kisses her hand like a true gentleman, beginning to playfully waltz with her and twirl her about, “So come with me where dreams are born and time is never planned. Just think of happy things and your heart will fly on wings forever in never never land!”_

“-ter, earth to Peter.”

“Pietro,” Peter whispers.

“Huh?” 

“My.. real name is Pietro. My mom comes from Romani background. Her and my grandparents are troopers, man, they survived Dachau. She was just a kid, but shes a beast, man, Iron Lady type shit, the absolute best. But when we moved to America she knew it was safest to change our names,” Peter confesses quietly, swelling with emotion.

“It’s just.. this place.. it.. feels so much like.. you ever have a favourite place when you were a kid? Like, it was the safest most magical place in the world? This.. feels like it could be that, but for _everyone_.. people like us. Where they don’t have to hide, and, they can just.. be,” Peter ponders, voice softer than it usually is. His eyes are faintly distant.

Erik softens, and gives him a small nudge, “It will be, Pietro.”

Peter remains silent for a minute, then shakes his head, and grins, “I caved in, dude. You owe me, it was my turn on 20 questions and I told you about myself.”

Erik pats his back, “I’ll be sure to tell the professor to lessen your homework or something. But for now, let’s break out some prisoners.”

And they would. And it would turn out Peter and Erik were one hell of a team together, and everything went well as it could’ve. Erik respected Peter, and had complete faith in his abilities - letting him actually throw some punches! It was a surprisingly fun mission, and Erik was fun to have mid-mission quips and banter with. He had never laughed so much while kicking ass.

Once they had their little squad rounded up on the jet, Peter and Erik were still practically on fire with each other, chatting all the way home.

Suddenly, Erik sighs fondly, “Okay, you win.”

“Huh?”

“I’ll tell you about myself.”

Peter beams, and listens intently as Erik tells him tidbits about his family, his childhood (the good bits that he could remember) and his fond beloved days of the first X Men. He’d asked others about Erik before. He’d ask Raven who was too uninterested, or Hank who was annoyed at him for distracting him, or Alex who didn’t have very nice things to say, and even Charles, but Peter knew that too much inquisition would hurt him too much. So now, here he was, hearing it straight from the horse’s mouth. Something inside of him that was missing was beginning to be filled.

Then it’s finally Erik’s turn to ask a question. He asks him for a secret. And Peter almost tells him. Because Erik would be cool to have as a father. And though he almost says it, he knows it’s not the right time - not when exhausted refugees were sitting a couple of feet behind them, or when Erik was piloting. He didn’t want the shock to cause them to crash.

“Every time Raven gets a new perfume bottle I replace it with Minnie Mouse themed perfume. It makes me sneeze like crazy and it’s also fun to watch her brag about designer shit when it’s really dollar store perfume.”

Erik cackled. 

* * *

4.

The night always comes down.

Strange, how just last night Peter had been so elated he swore he could’ve been living in some manic daydream. There he was, partying with his friends basking beneath neon strobing lights at a disco that he had snuck them into as they whooped and cheered as the clock struck midnight and Peter turned nineteen. They had been so full of adrenaline laced energy and exuding youth, setting off (and making, thanks Jubilee) fireworks, jumping into moonlit lakes. Following a vivacious night by wasting energy at arcades and bowling arenas, at giggly sleepovers. They had been so young, and so full of life, and they had been so bright.

Peter’s birthday had been an after school special, and for his friends the episode would end as one, credits rolling to blissful sleep. But not for Peter.

It seemed that whatever brightness and light that was inside of him had left the moment he was left alone with his own head. Now Peter comes down from his drunken high of an illusion of carefree youth, and the hangover just makes him feel blue. It starts in his chest, then it spreads like a dreadful disease, and then it metastasizes so that he’s consumed from it.

So Peter runs from it. He runs, he runs, and he runs but even as the world turns into a blur there’s no escaping it. So he ends up just where he started, and resigns himself to slumping on one of the seats in the backyard bandstand. Charles’ mansion provided him with the space he needed to feel completely free and unrestrained, but it was moments like these in this big, vast space that made Peter feel so small. So lonely, beneath all of this sky, all of these stars.

And as the ache deep inside him only grows, he retrieves a cigarette and lighter from his inner jacket pocket, and takes a deep inhale. With the inhale he lets himself feel the pain, but only momentarily, for when he exhales he breathes the pain back outwards into the air and lets his mind empty. 

“I’d think after the craziness of the last 24 hours you’ve just had you’d be knocked out,” Erik’s voice sounds out, causing Peter to startle and nearly drop his cigarette. 

“I didn’t think smoking was allowed on the premises,” Erik remarked.

Peter takes a drag, exhaling a puff of smoke that dissipates into the night air, “It’s not.”

Erik plops himself at a seat a couple of feet away from the boy, sinking into it and sprawling out tiredly. Peter wordlessly offers him a cigarette, to which Erik takes and in a swift movement Peter lights it for him.

“I don’t think Charles would be happy to know you’re a smoker,” Erik concludes.

“He wouldn’t be happy with you doing it either,” Peter retorts and sighs after Erik raises an eyebrow at him. 

“I’m not,” Peter explains, “I used to be, for a while. I’ve stopped mostly. Though sometimes I cave. On nights like these.”

“It’s your birthday.”

“Yeah, exactly.”

“What, post birthday blues?”

“Something like that, you could say.”

A silence hangs over them. Peter decides to break it.

“Can’t sleep?”

“More like my head doesn’t want me to sleep,” Erik mutters bitterly, rubbing his face tiredly.

“You.. want to talk about it..?” Peter asks awkwardly.

Erik chuckles, “I don’t take you for a psychoanalyst.”

Peter thinks about that, “Yeah, I’m not.” He stands up, “Let’s go on a walk.”

Erik raises an eyebrow, “I don’t fancy a sprint.”

“I’ll go your pace, I swear, I’d rather walk like a turtle and listen to you mope than sit on my ass listening to you mope,” Peter jokes.

Erik laughs quietly, and stands up, walking by Peter’s side as they head into the dark, deep but divine woods.

“You’re really going next week?” Peter inquires. 

“Yeah,” Erik nods, then smirks slightly, “Will you miss me?”

“Pfft, nah man,” Peter jokes, “..Chuck will, though.”

Erik is quiet, something glinting over his eyes and for a second Peter regrets saying it but Erik speaks again, “As will I. But.. this is how it must be.”

Peter scoffs, “Says who?”

“Says—! ..I.. it’s difficult to explain, I just know it has to be this way,” Erik insists.

“But what do you want?” Peter presses, “Honestly, in a world where your bizarro rules don’t exist.” 

Erik looks stunned, as if he had never thought of it, like he had never thought it could have ever been asked of him. He looks distant, “I would like to be happy.”

“Are you happy here?” Peter questions.

“I feel like I could be. If fate would allow it so,” Erik says quietly, “But alas, it is not how the story is writ.” 

Peter snorts, “You pretentious fuck.”

Erik looks over at him defiantly, “There are more pressing matters. There are wars to be won. There is so much to fight for.”

“Yeah, I agree. But your _entire life_ is a fight. Wouldn’t you want to fight for a life to live, for what you love, than to fight to your death for a life you’ll never know? Be a bit selfish, man. One man can’t carry the entire world,” Peter argues.

Erik’s eyes narrow darkly, “Those who I love were lost when I did not fight.”

“Then you dishonour them by living a life you’re unhappy with.”

 _“Then you know nothing of loss!_ ” Erik snaps, lunging forward at Peter who quickly dashes out of his sight, reappearing behind Erik, holding his ground.

Erik turns to stare at him, and Peter’s face is stone, “You know nothing of _me.”_

Erik’s face, stiff and stoic, suddenly crumples, slowly collapses to the ground in defeat, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Pietro.”

Peter sighs and shakes his head, sliding down to sit next to him, “No, it’s okay. I’m sorry for provoking you. What you’ve been through.. I can’t even imagine. My mom —the things she’s been through.. the pain she had, that she still has.. and she doesn’t even remember much of it, and the fact you still.. I really am sorry, man.”

Erik nods slowly to his words. Erik seems to watch him for a little while, studying him, and Peter can’t seem to care that he is.

“Who did you lose?”

Peter freezes, and his throat has just closed up and his eyes turn glassy like a river freezing at subzero. He is a deer in the headlights, faced by this blinding, striking light of the pain he is forced to confront now, in an acrimonious ambush. Peter crashes completely, like the high of adrenaline laced distraction was merely a distant memory, or dream - and he’s just filled with so much blue. 

But Erik’s eyes are kind, if not sad, and his words are barely a whisper, but soft and inviting. Here are eyes that have bore too much, so much, but yet so tender. Peter feels understood, and safe, and this big world that had been threatening to swallow him whole feels a bit smaller.

“My sister,” Peter whispers, words uttered like broken glass. “She would’ve been nineteen today.”

The words don’t break the gates of the inferno. Chaotic magic doesn’t decimate him. But the words still feel like they have. 

“Your twin?” Erik entreated.

“Yeah,” Peter choked, utterances of something that was once only tender slipping, “Her name was Wendy. She was one of us. We were sixteen, when she..” His voice breaks. He can't do this. He looks ahead; and only ahead.

“She was beautiful. I wish you could’ve met her.”

Peter bites his lip, his heart seemingly wanting to explode out of his chest. Erik didn’t even know what he meant. Erik didn’t even know what he had lost. He doesn’t know if it hurt more to lose somebody you were robbed of loving, or losing somebody you loved with all your heart only for it to be crushed. He simply concludes there is only hurt, when somebody as beautiful as she dies too soon. This cloud has no silver lining, there is no romantic proverb to be learned : losing a sister is just pain and the work of an incubus.

Erik reaches over, wrapping an arm around Peter’s shoulder, and Peter tenses - because this familial sort of comfort, and belonging, feels so warm, and delightful, and Peter can’t let himself become acquainted with this. He won’t survive the loss a second time. It would hurt too much. But Peter is a fool, he is stupid just as he is naive and tempted to this beguiled promise, and he relaxes and melts against this alluring embrace. 

Erik’s warmth, it seems, wraps around his shivering heart like a blanket.

Though as much as this feels good, and needed, and right, Peter doesn’t like treading in these waters. He moves on, clearing his throat. “Your nightmares. Are they always this bad?"

Erik shrugs, standing up so they can continue their walk together, “They ebb, and flow. Depends on where my mind is at.”

Peter’s gaze is understanding. 

Erik hesitates, then presses his lips together, “Lately.. I find when I wake from my nightmares.. I feel.. tired. I usually feel so.. full of feeling; vengeance, anger, some sort of drive.. I don’t know what I want anymore.”

“This life.. it gets so tedious. And I’m tired, i’m just so tired of.. ah..” Erik’s face screws up in his search, unable to vocalize what he wishes to express. 

“Running in circles?”

Erik’s eyes clear, “Yes.”

“I understand you, in a way. I mean, obviously not.. like, the hunting, stuff.. but I understand the.. living from day to day. Not caring, about anything, anyone, because it’s easier,” Peter offers quietly, “For me it was petty crime, adrenaline seeking, mischief making, booze upon booze that I end up burning through in half an hour..”

Peter thinks about it and looks above, finding that a sky full of stars peeked beyond the ceiling cover of trees, it made him feel small, but this time he didn’t feel lonely, “I still don’t really care, about my life meaning something. I’m too small for that. But it doesn’t mean there can’t be meaning in my life, you know?”

“You sound a lot like Charles. That’s not a bad thing.”

Peter blinks, “Huh. He.. often says I sound a lot like you.”

Erik looks confused, but more so surprised, “Does he really?” He’s silent for a minute, possibly to think about that, “For all I say about what Charles does, I really do respect it. He gives people a family. And family.. is _everything._ It is something that binds you together. Somewhere to belong to. The world is dark, and cold, and once you find that fire you cling onto it and you don’t let go.”

Peter’s heart flutters, and something inside of him is glowing - time seems to halt, and he’s become aware of this space and his dimensions. He goes over ways to tell him. All the ways he can tell him, his construction of words, the flow of his rhythm. But as Peter fidgets idly with his watch, which had been a gift from his ghost, he watches as time ticks, and ticks, and ticks. So little time given to angels, and so much time for hurt. Peter doesn’t know if he can take any more of it. Then before he knows it the moment passes.

Apparently he’s been quiet long enough that he’s shocked to find that they’ve emerged from the woods back into the sanctity of the mansion. They had managed a way through.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Erik says suddenly, reaching into his coat pocket and pulling out a tape, “I couldn’t find you earlier, and I don’t really think this is your taste, but I listened to it often when I first lived here. I found it the other day and thought maybe you would like it. Happy birthday.”

Peter takes a look at the tape: _The Free Wheelin’ Bob Dylan._ He grins brightly, “Woah, thanks man, I.. I didn’t think you would even think to get me anything.”

“When I see you next, whenever that may be, you can tell me how you like it. I’ll tell you about how I find Pink Floyd and Queen. Who knows, maybe I’ll love music then.”

“Oh, man, wow, uh.. thank you. Hopefully um.. hopefully that isn’t a very long time from now.”

Erik smiles something soft and gentle, placing a hand on Peter’s shoulder, which travels to the top of his back which he pats in a way that can only be seen as fond. He mutters a little ‘good night’, as he disappears into the mansion. Peter ends up just standing there watching him go.

Peter isn’t ready to rest quite yet. So he slips down, sitting himself down on the steps leading back into the veranda. He takes Erik’s tape, sliding in the B side, and just listens as he watches the world go by for a little while.

_And it ain't no use in turning on your light, babe_  
_The light I never knowed_  
_And it ain't no use in turning on your light, babe_  
_I'm on the dark side of the road_  
_But I wish there was something you would do or say_  
_To try and make me change my mind and stay_  
_But we never did too much talking anyway_  
_But don't think twice, it's all right_

The music is all he hears. He lets himself sit in the stillness.

For once Peter would think twice. Peter had been running his entire life, and for the first time he finds himself grinding to a screeching halt that toppled him over.But at last, a moment of stillness. He looks behind him, and takes the moment to consider where he wants to go. And the more he thought the more the fog cleared in his mind and the more he knew. Peter wanted to be fire, to be something that would make Erik stay. 

5.

No more running. 

He just is, as he is. He is not sure if that is enough, but he hopes it will be. 

Here he is standing outside of Erik’s bedroom door, his hands shaking, and breath heavy. He has to convince himself to move, which is something foreign to him when he can never stop moving.

There’s a weight on his shoulders, but not one of burden - it’s the weight of presence, of touch, of comfort. Maybe he’s just delusional but it feels like a hug. It feels like a sister’s hug. Peter hopes the nexus between twins transcend this reality, beyond this life, because he desperately wants it to be a hug. Any way, his ghost doesn’t haunt him, instead guides him now.

He knocks.

“Come in.”

Peter shuffles in nervously. Erik is packing a suitcase. He’s leaving later tonight, early in the morning - discreetly as possible. It was now or never.

“What are you doing here, Pietro?” Erik asks, averting his attention from his task to him, which makes him feel a kind of vertigo and a keen awareness of his existence. It’s daunting.

“I.. I-I need t-to talk to you,” Peter stutters. Erik’s demeanor shifts, possibly because Peter doesn’t stutter. Peter doesn’t get anxious. This was something. Erik tilts his head in encouragement.

“I.. I’ve been meaning to tell you, since.. well, I.. I.. know it’s.. I know I’m not.. the truth is I just.. I just think you should know-“

The thunderous roar of running footsteps echo across the hall.

“What the—?”

Hank bursts through the door, “Erik! Have you seen Peter? We have an emergency and we need him- oh, thank god, Peter, hurry, to the jet, it’s urgent - Charles, he..”

“What’s wrong with Charles?!” Erik bellows.

“Woah! He’s fine, it’s just.. he was at Cerebro, and.. there’s a mutant, in captivity - being held by Genoshan scientists, they plan to make him a mutate-“

“I’m coming,” Erik growls as he pulls Peter by the wrist and out the door in a light jog towards the jet. So overwhelmed by these sudden turn of events Peter doesn’t even have the heart to remind Erik he can go much faster than this.

It’s definitely unexpected, but Peter finds fun in spontaneity - impromptu mission plans are incredibly enjoyable for him, as he doesn’t really like being told what to do. It’s incredibly fun, if not a bit disappointing because Peter has been cockblocked (dadblocked?) again, but it’s a fun mission for the most part. He’s still majorly on the defensive side, breaking through security systems and saving people’s asses, accompanying Kurt to save the mutant captive with angel wings. But the spontaneity means Peter gets to actually throw in some punches while he can, even if it’s not as cool as Alex, Raven, Erik and Charles who get to do the interrogation bit.

A while after Peter and Kurt gets angel looking boy lodged into the jet for Hank to tend to, the rest of the team starts to run toward the jet in waves. Raven comes back last.

“Erik’s not with you?” Charles’ voice has a mild tremble in it. Peter’s heart sinks.

Raven’s face falls, “What? I didn’t see him at all.”

“He said he was going to destroy the software, the one with all the resources on mutate process technology,” Charles explains quickly, and with each word that slips it’s harder for him to conceal his worry.

Charles puts his fingers to his temples, closing his eyes, and then his eyes snap open in panic, “The software sets off a self destruction bomb when it’s terminated.”

Then there’s the dreadful boom. Peter would never know what would happen next, because the moment he hears that he’s sprinting as fast as he’s ever ran back into the building. Maybe he hears the faint panicked shouting of his name, but he doesn’t care, and perhaps this was a biological instinct, but Peter is not losing anybody else. He pleads to whatever higher being there might be to allow him to be fast enough. He can’t be too late this time. Never again.

Peter runs up the flight of stairs, and as he rounds the corner he can feel the vibrations of a big boom rushing through him. He pushes himself harder, rushing into an office where he finds Erik mere millimeters away from the blast. Peter grabs him, shielding Erik as the blast sizzles his back. Peter starts to run away from the scene, finding that the whatever this bomb was made of, detonated faster than anything he’s ever seen before. He’d evacuated exploding buildings before, but had he been even a fraction of a second too late Erik would’ve been obliterated. He’s just glad he’s got him now.

Peter runs back to where he came from, but seeing that the blast was merely feet behind them. It seems to stare at them, and as the blast encroaches it feels more like a taunt. Peter stares back at the face of it in defiance.

The world was not going to take this away from him. He would not let it this time. 

He only has one choice. Taking Erik onto his back, Peter hurls himself into the glass window, the force of the blast accelerating their fall. As they cascade from this blast, Peter thrusts himself so that Erik is now laying against his chest, so that when they fall he’d take the brunt of the force.

Peter skids against the ground with a terrible thump, gravel grating against his suit and tearing it open. His head plummets against the ground, and a surge of pure pain and agony echoes throughout his entire body. He doesn’t even have the energy to scream. He lets go of Erik, who slips out of his arms and tumbles next to him. 

His vision starts to go hazy as light and shadow speckles his view, a throbbing pain pulsating throughout him. A shadow hangs over him, and suddenly Peter feels very sleepy. 

“Pietro? PIETRO?! HANK! CHARLES!” A voice screams, sounding a lot like Erik.

Erik is now in his face, lifting him into cradling arms, “Kid, you’re bleeding — did you.. d-did you save me? No, you _idiot_! Why’d you do that?” His voice trembles with a staggering uncertainty, and so much fear.

“Stay with me, kid, stay with me. What did you do that for?” Erik coos, breath heaving, placing a shaking, cradling hand onto Peter’s face in comfort. 

“For _you_ , dummy,” Peter laughs weakly, “I did that for you.”

Erik blinks in shock, as if such a reasoning was barbarous and simply unthinkable, or rendered impossible by a scientific law. It makes Peter feel sad.

“Me? No, kid, no.. you can’t do things like that for me.”

Peter smiles at him, coughing slightly as warm blood from his nose starts to trickle into his lip, but smiles nonetheless, feeling himself slipping away, in the place between the awake and dreams. “But you’re family. And family is everything. Once you find that you cling onto it and you don’t let go,” Peter echoes, voice fading out, and eyes fluttering closed.

“No, no, come on kid, stay awake, you gotta stay awake,” Erik pleads.

“But I’m tired, dad,” Peter mumbles. Then there is Erik’s eyes, blue, and crystalline, then there is darkness, and it swallows him whole.

* * *

+1. 

“Pietro? Pietro! No, kid, wake up, wake up!” Erik begs, shaking him slightly but before he knows it Hank and Alex are taking the boy away from him, and he refuses to let them at first, still begging and crying. But he feels Charles around him, and he remembers he’s among friends, and he lets them take the boy. 

The next hour goes by in a blur. He remembers flying back to the mansion on the jet. He trembles all the way back home, sitting next to Alex who pilots the jet home, shellshocked. He’s a horrible pilot, but Hank is with Peter and Raven took Jean to deal with the Genoshans. He doesn’t even realize or remember when Charles got here, one hand gently atop his. It pulls him back slightly, but not enough, the anxiety is too much. It’s too much for Charles too, who is solemn and clearly deep within his own mind.

Peter’s voice and words keep echoing in his head. It rattles Erik. This boy makes no sense to him. Where does a boy get so much trust? How does a heart get so tender and care so fervently? 

Family. Peter had called him. He had called him family. But this could not be, when the path of family was a bright one, towards the sun - and Erik walks on a shadowed road, he has never known the sun. He wonders what it is that attracts angels to him. Perhaps Erik is the sun; bright, warm, alluring - but burning, scalding, and scorching.

Had Peter called him...? No, of course not.

Now he finds himself sitting stiffly in the sitting room, completely detached from his reality. The time ticks on and on, but he doesn’t know how much has passed until somebody opens the door.

“Mister Magneto?” The blue Azazel — Erik couldn’t remember — says quietly. The mutant has clearly been crying, voice raspy and eyes watery and swollen. Erik can faintly remember someone hyperventilating in the jet, frantically helping Hank with Peter. He theorises it was probably him. He grunts lightly in acknowledgement.

“I.. thought I should let you know. Peter is okay. He is stable, and Doctor McCoy said he should be.. snf.. awake in a few hours,” He says lowly, clearly still shaken.

Erik could cry from relief, but doesn’t let that show in front of this boy. He does allow himself to relax his posture, taking a moment to compose himself, “What's the damage?"

“He suffered severe head trauma, and some second degree burns, but Peter’s mutation allows his immune system to regenerate quicker than average so he.. he is coping better than he should, and he should be completely healed in about a week,” Kurt explains slowly, stumbling over some words and pronunciations. Erik doesn’t mind. 

“Danke,” Erik nods lightly as he gets up from his seat and walks past him, straight to the medical wing.

“Oh,” Hank jumps when Erik enters unexpectedly, “Hi. I told Kurt to tell you that he’s okay.”

“No, he did, I just,” Erik looks over Hank’s shoulder to see Peter asleep on a bed, so still and so quiet, so.. unlike Peter. He searches for an excuse but can find none, “I.. I wanted to check if I could help. Maybe I can.. contact his mother for you, she should probably know.”

Hank’s eyes widened, “Uh. I.. I can call Ms. Maximoff, you uh, can watch over him for me?” He heads out in a hurry.

_Maximoff?_

In Erik’s cluttered, disorderly mind he can’t piece the memory to the name. He’s too focused on Peter’s words to him, and the fact the kid could have given up his life for Erik and Erik didn’t even know his last name until now. Erik feels so small, and so stupid, and so unworthy.

He slumps over a chair next to the bed, feeling incredibly deflated. He was at a crossroads with himself, at conflict with the oath he had taken the day he had lost his family, his path to walk this world alone if it meant he brought some sense into this mad world. It had caused him people he could’ve loved, and people he did love - and the loss of Charles was a pain still so much to bear. He was ashamed, so ashamed that he had let this happen - Erik had felt Peter draw closer and closer to him, like he was metal that he could just harness and pull to him. And Erik had let him. Because maybe deep down Erik liked it. He had been so foolish to let his heart win.

He watches over Peter with a deep shame hanging over his heart. He examines his peaceful, unstirring features. His silver hair is soft, and wavy - like a fluffy cirrus cloud. He has thin lips, much like his own, which is ironic given their speech, especially in tonality was worlds apart. His nose is prominent, offering a sharp profile just like Erik’s own, except it was much more slender, almost more feminine and gentle. It was a profile that he could recall in distant memories, in memories hazy with nostalgia and warmth but memories he couldn’t place right now. Peter’s eyes are closed, eyelashes fluttering over the closed lid - he’d never seen him so unmoving. He was so used to big, dark brown eyes, wide and almost doe-like, filled with a youth and an energy that was unparalleled. His eyes were so dark, which only made the contrast of the sparkling twinkle ever present in them so much more remarkable. He’d only seen these kind of eyes once before. In a pair of eyes he found himself almost falling in love with.

He could’ve loved her. She was fierce, and bold, and snarky. She was quick witted but sweet when she wanted to be. She had passions, and she was bouncing with excitement and thrill. But she wasn’t unintelligent, she was articulate beyond measure, and carried with her so much. Yet her dark eyes viewed the world so differently, through this lens of constant hope and fiery determination. He really might have loved her, had he chosen to stay with her. But he had his oath, and he left her in the witching hours of the dead of night. It had been what was best, or at least what he thought he was.

He could’ve loved Magda Maximoff.

**_“But I’m tired, dad.”_ **

The magnetic poles of Erik’s world shifts and is knocked off balance, off its axis and Erik is rocked off the boat he stands on. Shock steals his air as his entire body runs cold, and in a dizzying twirl his body gets feather light as he topples over. He wills a metal medical trolley in his direction to catch himself with, panting as he recovers from the wind knocked out of his system.

On the trolley sits a file reading “Pietro Maximoff”, and Erik grabs at it like it’s a coveted bounty. He flips it open and scans the page frantically, and his heart begs, and begs. But he doesn’t know what it begs for. 

_**Name: Pietro Django Maximoff** _  
_**Date of birth: May 22 1959** _  
_**Place of birth: Sokovia** _  
_**Mutation: Superhuman speed** _  
_**Known siblings: Wanda Natalya Maximoff (deceased), Lorna Anya Maximoff** _  
_**Biological mother: Magda Maximoff** _  
_**Biological father: N/A** _  
_**Next of Kin: Magda Maximoff** _

Erik’s heart drops and his chest is cold. He feels so heavy and his ears are ringing. The pulsating in his heart gets louder and louder and his hands are clammy and he feels absolutely empty. He doesn’t even remember where he is anymore.

**He has a son.**

He has a son and Erik wants him. And Erik knows he can’t have him.

It’s a sinking feeling that pulls him down to the ground. It takes him over almost completely. 

Erik is scarily light. He pushes himself to his feet, and he stumbles, the world is collapsing in on him and he can’t breathe. 

He feels so selfish and so ashamed of himself in this moment, because how did he let himself become so greedy? Why was he wanting more, when Peter was more than he ever deserved to begin with, how did he let himself get so entitled? He’s forgotten his place, but fuck does it still hurt so, so much.

Then his face crumples and he bursts into tears, unable to contain the pathetic noises he’s making, slapping a hand over his mouth to quiet the noise because dammit he’s still got his pride.

It feels like every star in the sky has been put out. It feels like someone has dismantled the sun and packed it away. He desperately wishes to return to a month ago before he sealed his fate, but nothing is the same now. The walls have already caved in and he’s surrounded by its ruins. He can attempt and build over it but the damage has been done.

He wishes he could have tamed his heart. Told it to not yearn for what it can’t have. He doesn’t remember where he lost his way and thought that he could even have something this good. What was he expecting? He was not one of these people who got good things like this. He was born in filth. And he was to live in it. That good life was not made for him, and having had a taste of it has made the void hurt so much more because now he knows what he could have but cannot.

God damn, why did his son have to be an angel?

_That’s enough, Erik. That’s enough now._

For a moment Peter’s eyes open. He is hurting, and he is so exhausted but his eyes still manage to glisten. They look right at each other, seemingly for the first time.

So Erik does what men with his bloodline do best. To protect his heart, he runs.

**Author's Note:**

> a 10K fic and I leave it on a cliffhanger? I truly am sorry lmao I know I'm ridiculous. I meant to wrap everything up in this fic but I realised the word count and was like, oh, fuck. I may have gotten carried away lol but I promise he doesn't run far Erik just has cold feet lmao, he has issues. I should have the next part up by Sunday! I promise promise a fluffy resolution, i swear.   
> PS: I drafted this fic yesterday to post for today, and i just want to address wandavision: Ralph is Peter and that is all. Nothing changes here lads, I’m possibly in denial and being naive and a clown but mutants forever, fight me on this


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